


The Tape

by TygerTyger



Series: Kink Meme Stories and General Smut [17]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TygerTyger/pseuds/TygerTyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So your wife made a sex-tape when she was younger. What's past is past, right? </p><p>Not if you have a time machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clare009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare009/gifts).



> Thanks so much to the amazing [clare009](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clare009/pseuds/clare009) for the wonderful beta and encouragement as always.
> 
> I started writing this for the [kink-meme](http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/942.html?thread=3656110#t3656110) about a year ago.

The Doctor rubbed his neck. He felt cold without his faithful bow-tie sitting under his chin, but he couldn’t risk being found out. There was the integrity of time itself to think about. That, and the fact that if she had any idea who was standing outside her flat, she’d snap his neck like a twig as soon as look at him.

He pulled up his long-legged un-braced jeans, which had slipped down leaving the waistband of his underwear visible. Cold necks and trousers that wouldn’t stay in place—he didn’t care what anyone said; human 21st century fashion was _not_ cool.

He sighed and continued to look up and down the road, eyeing likely suspects.

He had tried to do this from a distance—by answering her personal ads with a range of increasingly more ridiculous accents and then not turning up—but she was nothing if not persistent. So here he was, standing outside his would-be murderer and future wife’s flat, waiting for whatever lucky sod had answered her ad looking for a ‘co-star’.

Well, he might have been lucky had her husband not known what co-star was code for.

 

When Amy first joined him on the TARDIS, she wasn’t accustomed to only having one person to talk to, and so she’d constantly rabbit on at him. Mostly, he could filter out all the unimportant things, but sometimes she said things that were simply unfilterable.

“—and she put an ad in the gazette for a bloke to make a sex tape with!”

“Amelia!”

“Yes?”

“What could possibly have given you the impression that this would be an appropriate topic of conversation?”

“Oh, loosen up. Anyway, everybody’s interested in my mate, Mels. She made the tape too.” Amy sidled up to the Doctor with a mischievous grin. “Shall I tell you about it?”

The Doctor grimaced as he backed away from her. “No! Eugh. In future, Pond, please keep your unsavoury stories about your strange friends to yourself.”

Amy laughed. “Prude!”

 

He had done his best to forget the exchange at the time, and had succeeded for centuries actually. That was until the day he was sliding feet-first down a sand dune, being chased by a horde of angry Mongols, and the memory just threw open the door in his head and said, “Hello! Remember me?”

After falling face-first the rest of the way down the dune and being captured, he had 75 hours to think about it in great detail.

It wasn’t jealousy that made him want to prevent the event. Okay, well it was jealousy, but that was only part of the reason. A large part. The majority really. But there was also the fact that he knew she wasn’t exactly Leadworth’s most well-adjusted citizen and probably regretted the whole sorry affair. Not that he had ever asked her about it.

 

So there he stood waiting, freezing his neck off in a boat-necked t-shirt, skinny jeans and loafers. When someone did finally break his stride and turn towards the door, the Doctor pounced. “Charlie?”

Charlie squinted at him, a little bit edgy. “Yes…?”

“She’s changed her mind.”

“What? But I was only just chatting to her a minute ago.” He took his phone out. “I’m going to ring her again.”

The Doctor grabbed the phone and flung it as far as he could. It hopped off the curb and into traffic, where it was smashed into smithereens under the wheels of a passing Jeep.

He looked back at Charlie, who was standing agog. “Sorry about that.” He shoved his hand into his pocket, and after managing to get it stuck, and then thankfully unstuck again, he pulled out a roll of bank notes. “Here, this should cover it. A bit more probably too. Get yourself some pick ‘n’ mix. Treat yourself.”

Charlie made an attempt to speak, but the Doctor put a finger up to close his lips. “Shhh. It’s for the best. Hot stuff like you…” He looked Charlie up and down and realised he was lying, but he had committed now, so he continued. “…could find any number of sexy ladies to make movies with.” The Doctor withdrew his finger and wiped it on his t-shirt.

Charlie, seemingly cowed, looked at the cash in his hand and then nodded. “Okay, yeah.” Then shuffled off.

He thought about his poor young wife inside, waiting for some ugly bloke called Charlie who was never going to arrive. It was tragic really. He wondered if he should phone and let her know. Or maybe try to talk her out of future attempts? Surely, it was his duty as her some day husband to protect her from such hurt? Or something to that effect.

But that could wait for later. For now, it was another job well done.

He grinned as he rubbed his hands together, and then dusted off the lapels of the jacket he wasn’t wearing. The sound of the latch on the door behind him roused him from his self-satisfaction.

“Are you Charlie?”

He turned slowly around, waiting to feel the tug of time altering, but it was staying put. For now at least. The door was only open enough for her to pop her head around, and oh, what a head it was. All smoky eyes and soft lips, one eyebrow tipped up to remind him of her question.

His knees went wobbly, and he wasn’t sure if there were tiny hearts swimming about his head, as his smile grew wide and lazy. “Yes. I’m Charlie. That’s my name, don’t wear it out…” He cringed for himself.

“You don’t look much like you described.”

The Doctor stood up straighter. “Is that a bad thing?”

She spent a moment or two looking him up and down, inwardly appraising every part of him as though he were the prize pig in the village fair. Not that he minded being a pig, if it meant being her pig.

He really hadn’t expected this—not her finding him on her doorstep, or him pretending to be someone who he wasn’t—but just how dotty he was about her in this incarnation. It was like everything wonderful about River packed up with a stick of dynamite and a match. And oh how he wanted to light that match. And even better, she hadn’t a clue. About anything. Not about him, or the things she would one day do to him, or with him, or have him do to her. A selection of these things crossed his mind as her eyes fell below the belt he wasn’t wearing, and she raised her brows.

“Definitely not a bad thing,” she said, sounding impressed, and invited him in with a tilt of her head. He had already followed her inside before he remembered that he shouldn’t have, and he forgot again immediately upon seeing the rest of her. She was wearing knee-high stiletto boots and a skin-tight faux-leather cat suit with a zip that went all the way down to her… _Yowzah_.

She stood with her hands on her hips as he tried to regain control of his lower jaw. “One rule,” she said. “No kissing.”

He had planned to leave, in fact he had been just about to make an excuse and walk out the door, but she had to go and ruin it by bringing up kissing. He stared at her mouth and all he could think was, _what a terrible waste of such glorious lips_.

She grabbed him by the waistband of his trousers and dragged him towards the bed, before remembering something. “Just a sec.” She skipped over to the dresser, and he dreamily watched the way her arse curved as she bent over to switch the camera on.

Camera. He’d forgotten about that.

She was back to him again, and before he knew what was happening, she had his trousers open and down around his ankles along with his pants. “Well hello, big boy,” she said as she knelt in front of him and took him in hand.

“Thank you,” he said, with an immodest grin.

She winked up at the camera, and then sucked the head of his cock into her mouth. Not such a terrible waste of glorious lips after all.

His conscience was being particularly slow off the mark, but it finally kicked in as he looked down at her taking more and more of him into her mouth. He was supposed to be the one person in the universe she could trust, and here he was lying to her and taking advantage. So why then did he have to shove his hands into his armpits just to stop himself from grabbing her head to guide her? He clamped his arms down onto his hands and squeezed his eyes shut so he could remind himself how very wrong this was. His eyes shot open again when she did something with her teeth that was _definitely_ very wrong.

He put his hands down next to her head just as she repeated the trick. “No, no, stop it. Ah!” She released him, and he took a small step backwards. The stare she gave him was worrying, possibly bordering on a snarl.

Her lips said, “What?” but her eyes said, “This had better be good.”

He felt more than a little ridiculous, and a small bit scared, standing in front of her with no trousers on, so he covered himself with a throw cushion from her bed. “It’s just… that thing with your teeth. Well it’s not exactly…” He looked at her again to gauge the likelihood of him leaving her apartment with all the appendages he had entered with. “…pleasant?”

“I’ve never had any complaints before.” Her brow furrowed as she dropped her gaze and stood up.

His lips threatened to form themselves into a duck-ish pout as he considered how many non-complainants there were exactly, but he straightened them out again. “Okay.”

She stayed looking at an indistinct spot on the carpet. “Yeah, I don’t really want to do this any more; I think you should leave.”

“Right,” he said, and pulled his pants and trousers up and started to button them.

“You’re just going to take that from me? No fight? No argument?”

He looked up at her. “That’s sort of how it works, isn’t it? You say, ‘no’ and I say, ‘quite all right?’”

“Doormat.”

Not really sure how to respond, he shrugged and made his way to the door.  It had been a disaster, but at least he was avoiding the catastrophe it could have been. He had his hand on the door handle and was about to put the sorry mess behind him when he heard her say, “Wait.” His shoulders dropped and he paused. “Don’t leave,” she said.

He turned around to tell her that he had to leave, that he couldn’t explain it, but some day she might understand. But when he saw how she was standing, holding herself, so unusually unsure of herself, he couldn’t find the words. 

River’s vulnerability was something he was never prepared for on the handful of occasions he had witnessed it. His thoughts and plans would all be overridden by the intense desire to take away her hurt, to build her up.  And this time was no different, in spite of the different face, because when she said, “It’s okay if you don’t fancy me,” he wanted nothing more than to show her with every cell in his body, every ounce of his being, the full extent of his desire for her.

He crossed back to her and stood in close, feeling the heat of her breath on his bare arm. Cautiously, he stroked along the line of her jaw with a light finger. She kept her eyes trained on the floor, but he felt her lean fractionally into his touch.  He calculated that the probability of cocking things up was high, but that it would be significantly reduced if he managed to keep his trap shut.

He trailed his finger down along her neck to her collarbone, and her chest rose in a quiet sigh. He became acutely aware of the danger as he grasped the tab of her zipper. She was trained to kill. Every muscle in her body was primed for murder, and her intended target was currently tugging the zip of her cat suit down.

He pulled it most of the way open, then brought his finger back to her collarbone. Her breathing was shallow but growing steadily quicker, puffing softly on his neck now. He kept his eyes on the line he was tracing down over her sternum to where bone became muscle under skin.

Continuing down past her navel, he scooped a low line across her stomach with his fingertips. She had a mark in the hollow of her hip, a couple of shades darker than her skin tone. He ran a thumb over it, trying to discover its exact shape. It was then he realised that it was a tattoo, a tiny tattoo in the shape of a duck. A duck on a Pond. He couldn’t prevent the tiny sound of joy that escaped his lips, and she exhaled her warm breath into his ear.

He let his hand fall into the welcoming curve of her waist and lifted his head to find her staring at him. She may have had different eyes to River, but it was the very same soul staring out from behind them.

He knew she had said no kissing, but when she listed forward, all rational thought escaped his head. Leaning in, he gathered her lower lip between his. Her muscles relaxed under his hand, so he brought the other to her cheek and gave up on holding back. 

She moaned into his mouth, and he heard the sound of her zipper being pulled the rest of the way down. Then her hand was on his wrist, guiding his fingers from her waist and into her knickers. They both sighed as he slid against her clit.

He pulled her closer to him and kissed her hard. Her grip on his wrist loosed, and her back arched as he rubbed roughly along her slit. He kissed down along her throat, and listened to her pant as he sucked at a tender spot below her jaw.

Then her fingers were at the hem of his t-shirt and tugging it up. He released her so he could tear it off over his head and then claimed her mouth again, parting her lips with his tongue. He pushed her cat-suit off her shoulders and then backed her onto the bed, yanked off her boots one by one, and dragged her outfit down over her ankles, leaving her sitting on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a lacy thong and a wicked grin.

Not to be outdone, she pulled him between her legs and unbuttoned his trousers, then pushed them down with her toes. He stepped awkwardly out of them and then kicked them aside. He ran the flats of his palms up over her waist, pausing to tease her nipples with his thumbs before hoisting her under the arms to move her into the middle of the mattress.

He climbed up after her, intent on letting her see for herself whether he fancied her or not, but before he could get that far she rolled out of the way. “Not so fast,” she said, low and dangerous.

He kneeled up and froze as her hand slipped into her bedside drawer. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might have been playing with him, getting his defences down before pulling a gun on him. Because River wouldn’t have, but this wasn’t River. Not quite. Not yet. She turned quickly back to him and he swallowed, his mind void of any useful ideas.

She tossed a small packet onto the mattress next to him and then moved back over to kneel up and kiss his neck. He made a noise that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh and wrapped his arms around her, holding onto her, lest he dissolve into a puddle with relief.

She nipped at his neck and slipped her hand between them, taking a firm hold of his cock. Sighing, he let his fingers press into the soft curves of her hips as she slowly stroked. She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, gauge his reaction. He bent down to kiss her, push his tongue into her mouth, and let his hips thrust into her hand.

He could feel her smile as she continued with a firmer, more confident touch. Moving his hand down from her hip, he stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs, and then pushed her thong aside to slip two fingers between her folds. She sighed into his mouth, and he kissed her more deeply, timing his fingers with her hand.

He felt the swell of her clit under his fingertips, and her own strokes were getting more erratic by the second. Grinning, he bit her lower lip, and was sure that a few moments more would have her begging for mercy, but she let go of him and knocked him onto his back instead.

She stood over him on the mattress, terrifying and gorgeous, and pulled her thong off whilst somehow maintaining perfect balance. He sighed at the marvel of her, her gentle curves masking the sleek hard-bodied perfection underneath. She reached for the condom and tore the packet open. Dropping to her knees, she straddled his face and draped herself down over his body to roll it on. He did what he could to distract her with his tongue and lips, and she responded with a long moan and ground herself against his tongue. He closed his eyes and let her at it, groaning at the thrust of her hips and the tightening of her thighs around his face. She was so close again he could taste it, but just like that, she was gone again, leaving him bereft and squinting at the table lamp.

Before he had time to protest, she had turned to face him and sunk down onto his cock, which she had somehow managed to get the condom onto without his noticing. She rolled her hips as she rode him roughly, the soft bounce of her breasts doing all sorts of things to his brain. Her mouth was slightly open, and she was smiling widely down at him as she sent him closer and closer to the edge.

He decided that he had quite enough of being on the bottom, so he grabbed her by the hips, turned them both over, and slammed into her. Her look was unmistakably impressed, and he held her hands down over her head to keep her in place as he gave her the fucking of her life. She rolled her hips to guide his thrusts to her sweet spot, and on each hit she moaned louder and louder. Still, the playful smirk never fell from her lips.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and freed a hand to push his shoulder and turn them onto their sides. He paused and she ground against him. A compromise, he thought, and kissed her deeply. He pulled her top leg up almost to his shoulder, stretching her tight around him. Taking hold of the back of his neck, she waited for him to make the first few tentative movements with his hips. He couldn’t move as much as he could when he was on top, but the gentler motion in this position was having exponentially louder results. Even her smirk died away.

Her brow was furrowed in concentration as he thrust steadily into her. She kept her hips still and allowed him to work her closer to the edge. He just hoped this time she’d let him push her over, because he really wasn’t sure how long he could hold out watching her face, and hearing her cries, and feeling the liquid grip of her cunt around him. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long, as her loud cries collapsed into a sob. He kissed her as he came seconds later, swallowing back the strangled sounds in his throat as she ran her tongue over his swollen lips.

 

*   *   *

 

He looked down at her sleeping, curled on her side, her fingers twitching at the slightest sound. He wondered if she had ever slept with another person in the room before because, whilst she was certainly asleep, she was in a peculiar state of readiness all the same. He got the impression that she would not be sleeping now if she didn’t at least trust him a tiny bit, and that thought made his chest slightly warmer.

He also supposed that she was thoroughly worn out, what with being only human with just a hint of Time Lord after all. He’d let her experiment with a slightly less toothy technique, which had particularly positive results. In turn, she allowed him to take control and make her come softly and slowly with his lips and his tongue, and didn’t once fight to take over.

But, all good things, as the old adage went. Before he left, he knew he had to somehow tidy up the mess he had made by being where he should never have been. But he couldn’t bring himself to take it all from her, just what was necessary. Placing his fingertips lightly on her temples, careful not to disturb her fragile slumber, he blurred her memory of his face and voice, leaving her with everything else.

As delicately as possible he stepped off the bed, picked up his clothes from the floor and pulled them on. He took one final look at her in her sleep before he left and silently promised that he’d see her again soon.

Outside on the walk back to the TARDIS, the streetlights glowed yellow, and traffic had slowed to a trickle. The Doctor contemplated his own dumb luck. He could have ruined it all, letting himself be guided by his baser instincts. Throwing reason out the window for a set of tender lips and a come hither look. He tried to put his hands in his pockets but found they wouldn’t both fit at once, so he crossed his arms instead to continue his contemplations.

It was no use, this scolding himself, because he knew it was nothing to do with her lips or the look she gave him. It was her. And he could no more prevent himself from wanting her—or loving her—than he could prevent himself from breathing.  As there were no tin cans nearby, he just kicked absently at the pavement.

The jealousy, though, that was definitely something he could improve upon. It was all well and good for people to claim, “What’s past is past,” but that’s not exactly true when one is in possession of a time machine. He reminded himself what was at stake due to his meddling. Changing her past could change everything that came after, for both of them. And that was the clincher, really. He may have gotten away with it this time, but next time he might not be so lucky, and then what?

His mind was made up. He’d never get to see her in this incarnation again, and he’d have to be okay with that, even if she continued trying to make that blasted tape with some undeserving idiot or other. Something in that last thought itched in the back of his brain, and he stopped his mopey strolling to try to scratch it.

“Oh God! The tape!” He smacked himself hard on the forehead a couple of times, attempting unsuccessfully for the thousandth time to knock the stupid out. There was only one thing for it.

 

Going incognito meant leaving his sonic back at the TARDIS, which in turn, meant trying to pick the lock of her apartment door without it. After what felt like an age, the latch clicked and he gently pushed it open. Relief almost turned him to jelly when he saw that she hadn’t stirred from her position in the bed, and he crept over to the dresser to retrieve the tape from the camera.

He spent a moment looking for some obvious method of opening it, turning it over in his hands, until from the bed he heard her grumble in her sleep. Panic, the Doctor discovered, was possibly the worst reaction for someone trying to execute an operation in silence. His fingers shook as he tried to find a release switch or lever and one accidentally hit the rewind button.

The camera whirred to life—loudly—and any chance there had been of making his escape unnoticed was eliminated. He took his only remaining option and legged it, knocking over more of her belongings to add insult to the injury of having her video camera stolen.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted her springing into action and upped his pace, getting out through the door and down the street, struggling to keep his loafers on his feet as he ran.

As he reached the corner, and the salvation of the waiting TARDIS, he could hear her voice shouting after him. “You bloody thief! Get back here or I’ll kick your arse!” Pushing through the doors and flinging the camera into the jump seat he slammed the throttle forward. The TARDIS jerked into the vortex with a loud whine.  He winced. “Sorry.”

He slumped into the jump-seat, picking up the camera as he did, he decided to take a moment or two to take stock. The video camera was heavy and impossibly old-fashioned. He’d built more sophisticated devices himself as a tot, and he was fairly sure that even the Universal Matter Compressor he made in his first year at the Academy didn’t make a fraction of the amount of noise this grey plastic lump did.

And yet, the treasures something so primitive could contain. He smiled what he fancied was a wistful smile at it, and then felt a hard slap at the back of his head.

Clara sauntered past without passing any further remark. He jolted forward in the seat and rubbed at the site of the unceremonious attack whilst practising his injured look. “What was that for?”

She turned, propping one hand on her hip and leaving the other free to gesture angrily at him. “Knocking me on my bum in the shower, that’s what. You said the TARDIS has stabilisers; why don’t you, you know, use them?”

“Well obviously, there’s not always time.”

“And what on earth are you wearing? Actually no, never mind. I really need to stop being surprised by your clothing choices.” The fingers on her hip started to drum as she worked up to her next sentence, and he quietly calculated all possible continuations of the argument and chose an appropriate riposte for each. But then her gaze zeroed in on the video camera he was cradling and he knew he wouldn’t need any of them.

“What’s with the camera?”

“What do you mean, what’s with it? It’s a video camera, for the purpose of taking moving images with sound. I can’t imagine what could possibly be ‘with’ it. Unless you mean ‘with it’ in the sense of being cool and up to the minute, but then you would have said that surely…”

“Suspicious.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re babbling. You only babble like that when you’re trying to distract people.”

He steadied himself and stared at her. “Do not.”

She stood perfectly still and clicked her tongue, not giving any clue as to her intentions before lunging for the camera. Luckily he had lightning-quick reflexes and really very long arms.

“Oi!” he said, holding it above his head and out of her reach.

She looked down and wrinkled her nose at him. “My god! You smell like a brothel.”

His mouth was already open to respond before she finished her sentence, and rather than leave it gaping—having lost all command of speech—he snapped it shut again.

Clara forgot the camera and took a deliberate step backwards. “Where have you bee—” She closed her eyes with a pained expression and put her hand up. “No. No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” She let her eyes fall open again and they instinctively swam back up to the camera, still propped above his head.

He saw her shudder before closing her eyes again and letting her hand drop. He brought the camera down and sensing the, probably accurate, conclusion Clara had reached in that moment, found the ability to speak again. Well, perhaps ‘squeak’ was a more accurate description. “No!” He cleared his throat and stood up. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but no. And frankly Clara Oswald, I’m appalled that you would jump to such a conclusion. I mean—”

Clara put her hand up again to stop him and squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut. “Babbling,” she whispered.

The Doctor bit his lip. A different tack would be required. “Vergon Swamps.”

She shook her head before opening her eyes. “Sorry, _what_ Swamps?”

“Vergon Swamps. That’s where I was. Just now.”

“Right.”

He could tell by her expression that she desperately wanted to be given a good alternate explanation to replace the pictures currently residing in her brain, so he persisted. “The gases of the swamp, this is their odour. Not entirely unpleasant I would have thought, but now that you point out a similarity to… other smells, I concede you have a point.”

“And, ah, what were you doing there?”

“This of course.” He held the camera up a little. “I had a sudden and jarring memory of it being left behind by one of my former companions last time I was in the Vergon Swamps. Can’t have possibly anachronistic technology lying about willy-nilly.” He hoped she didn’t notice him wince at his unfortunate choice of last phrase.

“And the outfit?” Clara’s voice was hopeful.

“Well it’s pretty much impossible to get the gas smells out of fabric and I didn’t want to get any of my good things ruined, so…”

Clara nodded in reluctant acceptance of the account. “So what are you going to do with the camera? My phone’s rubbish, all it does is make calls and send texts. It’d be nice to be able to make a few videos.”

“No!” Perhaps that was a little too strong a response. “I mean, we’ll get you something more modern. This thing still runs on tapes.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I insist.”

Clara pursed her lips at him, suspicion evident in every muscle of her face. “Okay,” she said far too breezily and sauntered back towards her quarters.

The Doctor looked sadly down at the camera. If there was one thing he knew about Clara, it was that her natural curiosity would always win out against any sense of distaste. “Dammit.”

He sighed as he set out in search of the first-year Universal Matter Compressor he was unfortunately sure he still had somewhere in the storage bay.


End file.
